


Variety

by sekiharatae



Series: Behind Closed Doors [22]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Community: springkink, F/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-05
Updated: 2009-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-12 11:44:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sekiharatae/pseuds/sekiharatae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mind is the most important sexual organ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Variety

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Caught Masturbating; ~Explaining was less important than finishing.~

His hand in her hair kept her still, while the sharp edge of his blade cut through her bodice, chemise, and stomacher. She held her breath until the cold steel was withdrawn, leaving her skin unblemished but her heart racing. Embarrassed, she brought her arms up to shield her chest from his avid blue gaze.

Undeterred by her resistance, he released her hair to capture her wrists, stretching her arms above her head and pinning them to the wall with one large hand. The other pushed her ruined clothing aside to cup her left breast, his palm shockingly warm and slightly calloused. His smile flashed bright at the feel of her racing heartbeat, grew sharper still when his fingertips stroked lightly over the rosy crest and her body responded. Closing her eyes she turned her head to the side, but that didn't stop his mouth from descending to trace the line of her jaw, his teeth from nipping at her bottom lip.

"I want you," he whispered, nuzzling the loose tangle of her hair, "and I always get what I want."

Improper and unwanted, his advances shouldn't feel good. Yet they did, they did. His body was hard and sheltering, his kisses fervent, breath sweet. The hand on her breast was demanding but gentle, the fingers around her wrists tight but not hurting. He was a strange mix of threat and safety, confusing her further with the knowledge that he would protect her against all dangers save the one he presented himself. Where the men he'd rescued her from would have taken her life, he wanted her body, her heart, her self... and was not inclined to accept 'no' as an answer.

The method of his persuasion was proving increasingly effective. As his mouth wandered lower, placing open kisses along the column of her throat, his soft hair painting feather-light strokes against her skin, she drew a shuddering breath, trying to remember why she'd resisted in the first place. His thumb continued to tease her nipple, creating a strange ache between her thighs, a clenching in her stomach, and her hips moved of their own accord, seeking heat and pressure as he crowded closer. Gradually she relaxed, fear and uncertainty fading as a new form of tension filled her. She sighed, a breathy moan, and in response the fingers around her wrists loosened, allowing her some measure of freedom. Enough to turn her palm and entwine the fingers of one hand with his, while her other fell to fist in the finespun fabric of his shirt.

"That's it," his voice was husky as he brought their twined hands down to graze her knuckles with his teeth, "trust me." Transferring her hold to his shoulder, he freed his palm to curve around her chin and turn her face to him, his kiss hard and possessive, tongue flickering between her parted lips. With great patience he coaxed and teased, teaching her mouth to respond to his, savoring the way her hands tightened and her body arched when he sucked on her tongue. Pulling back a fraction to draw air, he let the hand on her breast skim down her side to slowly and deliberately raise her skirt and petticoats, bunching and gathering the fabric to reveal smooth creamy skin and dark curls.

Flushing, she tried to duck her head, but the strong fingers curled at her nape wouldn't allow it. Hypnotic blue eyes never left her face as he nudged her thighs apart, his foot finding purchase on the wall behind her to press his leg against her. The ache he'd created abruptly worsened, filling her with a sudden need for more. He gave it, his knee firm against her mound, the leather of his boot smooth and supple as he ground up into her warmth. Her head fell back as her neck suddenly went boneless, her hips circling as she moaned, his hand on her thigh helping to brace and steady her motion. Then his blond head dipped and his mouth closed around the peak he'd teased before, the hand at her nape shifting to pay court to the other.

"Too much, it's too much," she whimpered, fingers clenching in his hair, and his laugh caressed over-heated skin.

"Too much?" impossibly, he pressed closer. "Or not enough?"

Confused, near desperate, she parted her lips to say his name, wanting him to help her... and realized she didn't know it. Not his given one. "Captain Strife," she panted, hiding her face in his shoulder, "we can't – I can't – do this."

"Do what? This?" the pressure of his knee increased, slick leather nuzzling a bundle of nerves that was greedy for his touch.

Body drawn tight as a bow string, she shook her head, not even certain what the gesture meant.

He seemed to understand, his knee falling away to be replaced with the more knowing and delicate brush of his fingers. Still, he wanted her to surrender, to give him permission. "What do you want, love?"

Knowing the build-up inside her was leading to something, feeling the promise of pleasure in the trembling of her limbs, and her conscience assuaged by her attempt to call a halt, she broke. "Harder! Oh, _please..._ touch me."

* * *

It was late, and he wasn't expected home for another day, so when he'd quietly eased the bedroom door open, Cloud had expected Tifa to be asleep. He was half right: she was in bed, but wide awake – even if not particularly aware of what was going on around her. That was understandable: when he played her body the way she was doing, he pretty much ignored everything else, too.

Eyes glued to her form, he pulled the chair away from the desk in the corner, and dropped into it facing the bed, his arms folded across the back. As he watched her pleasure herself, he silently swore to cut corners more often, if arriving home early gave him a front row seat for a show like this.

She was naked except for one of his shirts, the zipper open and the material shoved aside to bare her breasts. Her left hand teased her nipples, alternating between her breasts, while the right moved between her thighs. Fingers glided easily over slick flesh, her arousal scenting the room like incense, and Cloud licked his lips as he avidly followed the motion of her hand.

"Too much, it's too much!" she whispered, even as she spread her legs wider, the motion blatantly needy, fingers never stopping or slowing their rhythm. A few seconds later she arched off the bed, panting another protest: "Captain Strife, we can't – I can't – do this."

Cloud blinked. _Captain Strife?_ He could feel the smug tilt to his lips as her soft words registered, and couldn't help but feel justified. Tifa was fantasizing. About him. And it was certainly working for her, to judge by the way her fingers glistened and her breath came in short, excited gasps.

Legs moving restlessly she moaned, a sound he knew well. It signaled that she was close, but couldn't quite make it over the edge. "Harder! Oh, _please..._ touch me."

Moving without conscious decision, he stretched to place his hand on her thigh, answered as if she'd spoken to him, rather than whatever alternate version she saw in her mind's eye. "Are you sure?"

Brown eyes flying open, Tifa stared at him, shock and embarrassment battling with rampant arousal.

But only for a moment.

She was close, he was offering to help, and finishing seemed far more important than explaining. "Yes!" she answered, closing her eyes and letting his fingers take the place of hers between her legs. Reality was so much better than her imagination, two long digits easing inside her even as he rose and pushed the chair aside to move closer. His free hand splaying across her stomach, as if to hold her still, he began to rotate his wrist. Each turn of his hand brushed his thumb over her clit, allowed his fingers to thrust in and out. She arched, seeking more, but had no chance to receive it. The slow burn she'd built suddenly burst into full blaze, searing her with pleasure, trapping her cry in her throat as she came.

Relaxed and languorous, she watched through slitted eyes, panting for air, as he began to undress. His face was flushed with arousal, the glow in his eyes bright with desire, but amusement still played around his mouth.

So when it came, punctuated by a quirked eyebrow, his question was not unexpected. "Captain Strife?"

Tifa blushed as he joined her on the bed, but her own humor was reflected in her eyes. "I watched a pirate movie earlier."


End file.
